


Exalted and Alone

by Proche



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proche/pseuds/Proche
Summary: Foreign Skies.





	1. Broken Past

A derelict and broken glance towards a never ending delusion, as if staring through a tinted window towards a distorted world unfolding in all its depraved beauty before you. Reality felt a distant whisper in the churning chaos. He felt himself stretched across worlds, soaring through a blinding emerald light and then... Then there was nothing.

Nothing but coarse soil grinding his cheeks, staining his vision and sullying his mouth with a taste of scorched earth and bitter scarcity. As every sensation slowly returned, he first felt his extremities crying out in dying, hoarse whispers, as if having been broken off to be dusted in brutal conviction, only to be aligned in distorted attempts. He felt miles of earth-shattering steps reclaim his legs and force him to fold into himself in haphazard attempts to alleviate the immense pain surging through every single element of which he was composed. He lay there sobbing, abandoned and hopeless, blinded by an agony that seemed to tear into his every fragment.

He could have lain there for centuries or seconds, time was an unremarkable factor in such adversity. As he cursed his being for it’s traitorous fragility, he was occasionally lulled from his loathing by shimmering emerald, bathing the surroundings in an ominous and alien glow. He had yet to grasp anything but the coarse ground salting his wounds, but every other moment seemed to draw him from his enclosure.

As distant dim and foggy visions became comprehensible, the scorched wasteland on which he was strewn became never ending. Basking in the green that seemed to emerge from nowhere but at once submerge everything. The immediate hostility of the alien terrain drew him ever onwards and before long he was perched upon a desolate rock watching the strange unfold before him.

Rocky and jagged, rough terrain expanded outwards toward every corner. He saw distant mountains in the far horisont, shooting from the ground in disparate attempts to touch the sky. A fortress poised upon the tallest climb spread its menacing black gaze upon all the light of jade foreboding.

He ran. Frenzied and desperate, aimless along the bare expanse. Panting, heaving and sobbing as every sensation he’d ever experienced returned. He felt a love lost and a life lived flood his every being with no anchor, as the slow realization of the gravity of himself being here returned. As every feeling resided with no mooring in his memories, they spurred him towards the void and a potential end to whatever waking nightmare had rooted himself to this oblivion. He ran and stumbled, rose and turned along every twisted crevice and treacherous corner, he ran until his body was once again screaming for absolution, he ran until a golden light took hold of him and showered him in a familiar embrace. Beyond the golden light, the emerald glow once again resonated within him before every sensation faded and darkness returned.

He awoke. Not as if in a waking dream, but truly awoke. The air was damp, the stone was cold and every breath was tinged with sweet winter. He could’ve wept with joy at the sincere sensations taking hold of his senses, but every attempt to alleviate his discomfort was met with dreadful constraints to his movements. He was restrained by objects, objects that could only have been arranged. Constraints turned restraints now revealed themselves as purposeful restrictions, he was imprisoned. The dark, damp air that had filled him with such release now seemed to creep ever closer as his heart raced in parallel with the panic rising. The emptiness was absolute, there was nothing within his vision comprehensible enough to map out his surroundings and he once again felt the helplessness. He wept silently for a world he didn’t know, hoping that somewhere in whatever reality constituted an opposite to this, he would feel peace.

He awoke time and again to the same darkness, fleeting in an out of coherent impressions. With every return to the void, he felt his broken being slowly replaced by something that might have composed a resemblance of comfort as every ailment dissipated in minor steps. He reveled in the ease, but regarded it with ill foreboding. As sure as his strain turned to comfort, he felt a foreign force stir in him that set his heart racing again as if the alleviation had charged an effect within that was now released in one, sheer explosion of everything perceptible. He cried out in an agony that turned to a whimper, as the emerald blast returned to silent shimmer emerging from an otherworldly gash upon his left hand.

He had but emptied his lungs of air before a door at the far end of his vision was swung open with a force that threatened the integrity of the hinges themselves and sent him staggering backwards onto his haunches. The newly found light charged forward and forced his eyes shut. He had glimpsed his enclosure, seen himself sitting in a trench along walls fitted with cages. He heard movement, hobnailed boots and clanking armor from one side and steps that felt more like a whisper from the other. The brazen steps charged ever onwards, creeping closer to him. He had his arms raised in both deflection of the light and protection for himself.

There was no immediate pressure to indicate any move towards him. All sounds had stopped with the exception of the whimper seeping from him. He carefully opened his eyes and gazed upon the fitted stones making up the floor, glistening in the torches and lanterns brought forward. Slowly his restrained hands crept down onto a rest at the floor, and he raised his eyes to catch his captors.

He saw but one figure, immense in its stature, securely footed within a striking but ultimately safe distance. It rose, fire spurring from behind leaving any comprehensible features in the dark. There was no indication that the owner of the second set of steps were within his vision. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now…”

The voice was stern but feminine to the touch. The accent was misplaced and could have resonated from within a dream. The notes were decked in desperation and disgust.

“The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

At the last indication that he was the recipient of the accusation he scrambled for whatever response he could string together but the vain attempt at communication was lost. He, of course, had not the slightest idea of which Conclave and what event she was hinting at. Besides that, the words made sense and the concept had root, but in what he could not define.

“I…”

He felt the coarse whisper of a word drag itself through his throat and leave a taste of deadened bitterness in it’s wake. 

“I don’t…”

The words were little more than a whimper and if they were meant to calm the hulking mass before him they did very little as she charged forward and grasped his constrained wrist in a powerful grip. In an equilibrium of terror and comfort, he was struck by the final realisation, that an actual person was gripping his depleted corpse, and every feeling pent inside came bursting forward in relief.

She must have noticed his sudden change in composure, the evident shaking of every fiber within him. She stopped dead, still gripping his limp wrist. He dared a glance, raised his head with what little poise remained and caught her dark eyes, raw and soft, resting on him with both concern and worry. Stray scars marred her smooth skin and a long braid was woven around the crown of her short, dark hair.

She sighed softly. Carefully raising his hand in hers so it rested within view of them both. The soft shimmer shone from within his palm, gracing everything with its grassy bloom.

“Explain this.”

Her words were calm, still he felt urgency hidden within. He amassed what he had gained, what he could coerce from his situation. Some event had lead him to restraints, led him to interrogation, yet all memories of the event, of anything in his past remained as unreachable as the void they occupied.

“I... Can’t.”

Again, little more than a whisper tore itself from his middle hardly resonating along the stony walls of the cell. He was given one last look of concern before disapproval and rage settled within her deep and tired eyes. In one fell movement she lifted herself to an empowering stance and gripped the hilt of the blade resting on her hip. She moved with such speed, adrenaline had hardly surged before she was coiled. Whatever was to happen, no fear protruded from within him. For the first time in what little memories he had developed, he felt empowered. Perhaps in his ability to provoke such ire.

Before another movement had even crossed her mind, the shadows produced another figure. Slender and graceful, moving as if born from mist. She laid a silent hand on the warrior and spoke.

“We need him, Cassandra.”

The warrior, Cassandra, and the other drew away from him and shared a brief look before returning. She drew nearer and he felt her gaze penetrate him, it was an uncomfortable look, one that he could only displace. He returned his stare to the blank floor before him, but felt her ever approaching. He yearned for answers, but felt little empowering his position to claim any.

“Do you remember how this happened? How this began?” Another unrelenting accent that seemed entirely strange to his ears. He tried to recall.

“Last I remember…”

Every word a strain, a struggle, but ultimately an obstacle he wanted to pass.

“I was flying, or being dragged through something that seemed entirely endless. A sea of stormy waves all showered in the same light produced by… Whatever this is.”

He raised his hand to indicate the otherworldly gash upon his left palm.

“I remember scorched soil and a dark fortress upon a hill and a sky so foreign I had no sense of direction.”

He felt relieved in sharing in his scarce memories. Perhaps the alleviation would clear some of the clouds that betrayed his outlook.

“Anything else? Who are you?”

The question had lingered in the back of his mind for some time for he could not recall, yet the terror of losing his every memory was pushed aback by his current predicament.

“I do not know.”

The warrior stepped forward again. He felt the disapproval cut through the thick air and sting his eyes. She spoke in disbelief:

“Amnesia. Convenient.”

Her scoff at his lack of connection to his surroundings was almost hurtful.

“I swear this to be the truth, upon whoever I might be.”

The unnamed woman’s composure changed drastically at his words and he felt himself regarded with curiosity more than animosity.

“Strange. You remember the gravity of an oath, yet have no memories of your own past”

He shifted, gaze flickering between the two poised in front of him.

“We share a common tongue, there is some gravity to that.”

She regarded his words with care, as if tasting every syllable, ever seeking the truth. She began pacing, slowly around the room. Measuring him from every angle. The brute was still towering before him, disgust marring her features, but with every flicker of the torches marking the far door a shimmer of what could easily be mistaken for concern, even hope, flashed in her dark eyes. He deemed her the anchor to the other ones ostensibly mysterious nature, and chose to relay onto her his next question.

“Can you tell me what happened? Why am I here?”

Surprise rang across her face, a mere second of an expression until she settled into her assessing resolve once again.

“We came here to have OUR questions answered.”

He misplaced her scoff as an air of amusement in the moment. His mind was still staggering between the bits of information he had picked up so far, trying endlessly to connect the dots that made up this incomplete mass. His only hope, as far as he could concede, was to rely on his captor’s need for answers as well, and it seemed that they themselves were stumbling.

“Nevertheless, it will be easier to show you.”

Her voice had a way of cutting through any masquerades permeating the air. When she spoke the world realigned itself around her and everything bent to her will. A burden must’ve been borne by her, one not easily displaced. A small gleam of admiration was awoken within him at the sight of her. She turned to the other woman.

“Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take him to the Rift.”

Leliana was her name. She disappeared, consumed by the same shadows he was not entirely convinced she wasn’t composed of. The warrior, Cassandra, he reminded himself, grabbed his hand once again and hefted him to his feet. She was strong, immensely so considering her stature. Even as crumpled as he was from whatever much time bent across this floor, he stood as tall as her, their eyes now once more realigned, he grasped at whatever might’ve been hidden behind the brazen gravity.

She was supporting him, holding him aloft as his legs had given out. A slight sting of embarrassment in the air of her strength, yet he had no way of knowing for how long he’d been confined to his restraints. He was broken, beaten and bruised from his very center and towards every extremity. Every movement was pain, a true and searing sensation that shot through him at every flex and turn.

As they ascended the final stairs and the first signs of daylight rose from beyond, he started thawing and was now more or less sufficiently supporting himself with one hand firmly grasping Cassandra’s arm as she lead him, hands still tied, up the final steps towards the daylight.

The light now scorching his eyes had his hands shading him from the intrusion by pure instinct within seconds. It was a few moments before everything settled and he saw the landscape spread before him, an old town or outpost, the sounds and sights of an incredible amount of people all scuttling around, making themselves useful in whatever way they could. The sight brought familiarity with it, yet he still could not place where or when such a sensation had occurred to him before. In his standstill, taking in his surroundings, he was greeting by something familiar. A green hue that seemed to blanket the entire snow covered landscape, a pulsating sensation resonating within. His eyes were drawn towards the skies and he was taken aback.

“What… is…”

He was at a loss. The sky was different, wholly foreign to him, and at the very edge above a towering mountain he saw it. A whirlwind of powers, twisting and turning within itself, pulsating, resonating and spurring forward masses of energy all clouded in the same light that protruded from the open wound cleft upon his left palm.

The force had been ever building inside him. He felt it corked up within, waiting for the surge of release. The pain was progressing, everything seemed to vanish before him and as the void took his sight, his senses, he was overtaken by the otherworldly sensations that were his fist memories. Scorched earth, unfamiliar skies and then... release. He was screaming, kneeling and finally falling over, spread across the soil and snow now tearing at his robes. As he returned to the world, he felt Cassandra drawing closer.

“We call it “The Breach”. It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such Rift, just the largest. Each were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

She kneeled before his body, sprawled in the dirt and snow.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads…”

She paused, troubled and deep in thought.

“... And it is killing you.”


	2. Prisoner

Broken. That was all that came to mind when Cassandra’s thoughts were drawn to the state of the prisoner being dragged behind her. Every time a pang of sympathy came before her, she reminded herself that this might be the man that wrought chaos upon the world. But as he was right now, bloodied, broken and barely held together, she felt her harsh words were unnecessary. He had agreed to help, in any event. Agreed to stop this madness whatever may come for him. He was dragged before the people of Haven, showered in their disapproval. Justinia’s death was his doing in their eyes. The people need someone to blame, she understood that. But she could not condemn a man before his guilt was properly declared. As for now, they wandered in the dark, same as he.

She pondered his remarks. No memories of himself, of this world. No family, no duty, no calling. Besides the initial panic, she thought she’d quite enjoy that. Maybe for a little while in any case. The last months had been haunting. Rummaging through the bile of the world, looking for a savior, a leader, someone to take the reins and steer the world onto the path of the original Chantry, not the worn and weathered path washed away by bureaucracy. All on Justinia’s... The Divine’s orders. And now she was gone, along with everything they’d worked for.

The prisoner had fallen behind while she’d been caught up in her monologue. She neared him cautiously, he was bent over as if out of breath, yet they hadn’t walked more than a mile from Haven. The ominous glow, resonating from his left hand, seemed to encapsulate him entirely sometimes. As if it was as much a part of him as his ragged dark hair and scrawny but broad shoulders. He was quite tall, as she’d seen the only time in the last couple of days he’d been standing up right. She wondered what he might have been, his exterior seemed to indicate manual labor, yet the time he’d spent doing Maker knows what in the last couple of days seemed to have famished him something severely. Maybe it had been longer than a couple of days to him, however long he’d been astray in the days leading up to the explosion at the Conclave.

As she studied the bent prisoner, she felt the air tingle in a familiar aura. The veil was thinning. Her training had made her adept. She could sense magic, neutralize it in ways that none other than the Seekers could. Yet this was unfamiliar, and it all seemed to resonate from him. The air was building up around them, coiling, preparing to unleash, what she knew not.

She got her answer before long. The prisoner screamed as the glow of his mark intensified once more and he crumbled before her. A hollow cry masking the defeated sobbing. She kneeled once again and felt deep concern until it was replaced by guilt. She was supposed to distance herself, at least until everything cleared. 

No. He was helpless, crushed beneath events bigger than himself, she would stand for him. She dragged his whimpering frame to its feet. He stood, supporting himself on her shoulder. She whispered reassurance to his ears, her head as close as she dared to the unknown man. She needed him, needed him to find the strength to carry on. For all of us.

\----------

Every time the immense buildup released within, he felt himself disappear for a moment before the pain rooted itself in him again. He had no strength to wonder, to contemplate. He barely had the strength to trust in his own senses. All he could feel was the warrior supporting him. Almost dragging him along as he stared defeatedly at the ground before him, concentrating on moving his feet, one after the other.

She had a plan, something that would make it go away, maybe. He was connected to the giant whirling hole in the sky, or rather, the mark upon his hand was. He felt it himself, how the Breach called to him, demanded his presence. It filled him with something beyond explanation, and then it released itself, constantly pulsating, pounding to the beat of every surge that shot forward. She explained the best she could, but he felt she was no more aware of the circumstances than he. The Breach was a gateway between worlds, one he had been dragged through and his mark was an after effect. It still made little sense to him, but nothing in this world as of yet had sparked any sense of familiarity. He grasped the concepts. Earth, wind, sky, it all made sense, but still seemed so far removed from him. His head started pounding once more. The buildup had reset, awaiting its next release.

The warrior was whispering to him every few steps. She wanted him to hold on, to push past this, to continue, to trust in his resolve. She promised a brighter tomorrow, she spoke of soft beds and laden tables. He found great joy in her remarks, and bet that he would have smiled, had he not been robbed of the energy to do so. He relied on her words, the strength of her body and the constitution she held. He thought himself braver in her presence.

The muddled road had been replaced by brickwork. It seemed to be a bridge or crossing across the crevice below. He was mostly standing by himself now. The warrior had moved forward to consult with some others. He had stayed behind them. She was adamant, steadfast, asking about the others. His thoughts drifted to the other woman, Leliana, the shady figure whose every word and movement seemed clouded and cryptic. She was an enigma, as all in her profession tended to be. He had slowly pieced together her role, it was obvious when she was near. Of course, one like her would never be near until circumstances demanded it.

He was shoved from his thoughts by an alarming force, he felt it before any of the others had even noticed, yet he wasn’t fast enough to call out. Within seconds they were engulfed in the fiery clouds of deep emerald that shot from the Breach, bricks flying around, scattered in the explosion, and himself tumbling down the crumbling structure towards the crevice below. He heard Cassandra call out, but when he had finally reached the bottom, he lost the world around him once more.

When he awoke once more, the chaos around had disappeared and the collapsing bridge had settled. They were lying amongst the rubble. All except Cassandra who was kneeling besides a downed soldier. She was moving carefully between them with a defeated look, until she finally reached him. She looked as determined as ever, perhaps now even more so. But he had no time to revel in her conviction. Something was emerging from behind her, something drawn from within the shattered mass of the glowing explosion, and then he saw it materialize. Huge, hulking and shifting within itself, a moving mass of the imperceptible shape of the void. It charged.

Cassandra was on her feet at once, sword drawn so fast he nary had the time to formulate himself. She beat the sword against her shield once, and then charged in a fury he could not even imagine. She was force unleashed, charging relentlessly against the shapeless mass before her, and he saw it stagger, she was overwhelming it with ease. He felt relief, until the shade escaped her onslaught and rushed towards him. Panic arose, he felt a stinging sensation ripple along his body, as if sparking him within every joint, every muscle cramping and panic furthering within his being. He held out a hand by pure instinct and something happened. The intense build up didn’t just disappear in an explosion of discomfort, but was flowing along inside him, and the outstretched hand, or rather whatever stained the outstretched hand, seemed to be the catalyst. The same unrelenting force that spurred from the Breach, now flowed from his mark and he heard the shapeless monstrosity whining and curling in on itself. It lasted for several seconds. The scream slowly dissipated as the great green billow that had flown from him disappeared once more.

\-------------

Magic. He had to be… No. She had to maintain her composure, even in the event. She moved towards him. His eyes were closed, he was leaning against the crumbled bridge, sprawled on the ground once more. His hand was still raised, so she moved forward, sword drawn, ready to negate whatever else he had up his sleeve. She needed to establish herself, maintain herself.

“Explain that!”

Her coarse and harsh voice returned to her with force. Maybe she was too forward, rash once more. He likely had less of an idea than she did.

“I…”

He opened his eyes once more. Shock and awe clearly painted across his face as he stammered on.

“What was…”

He was either feigning ignorance or he truly had no idea. She couldn’t grasp any sensation within his eyes beyond confusion. If he truly were an Apostate, he could have annihilated her at any point, even if his body was as broken as it was. In all her time she had never experienced someone who forgot their connection to the fade, it was as ingrained in them as breathing, bending the ever present around them to their will. No, he truly had no idea.

She sheathed her sword and drew closer to him.

“Your connection to the Fade is unique, beyond anything we have ever experienced. I am just relaying what I’ve gathered here, but everything within the Fade is born from intent, emotion, and you wanted, no you needed, to protect yourself.”

He seemed to relax, as much as he possibly could in this situation. She grabbed his still outstretched hand and dragged him to his feet once more. He was supporting himself now. Clearly more composed than he had been, even though they had just tumbled down a broken bridge. Maybe the mark gave him strength as well as protection. Her objective became more clear. She turned to him, determined to catch his wandering eyes this time.

“We need to move on, find the others, everything will make more sense then.”

He nodded. Gray eyes staring back at her, flaring green with every pulse from the Breach.

\---------------

Born from intent. He was still chewing the words as he followed the steadfast warrior, more closely this time around. They had met more of the shapeless creatures, charging ever forward in an attempt to smother them. He had left the fighting to her and she dispatched them adeptly. She was a marvel to behold, every movement was calculated and pure, yet chaos rang at every turn as she bellowed taunts and charged fiercely ever onward. She could conquer nations by her resolve alone, and he wondered about her, what drove her and inspired her.

As they were climbing another hill, the chaotic but distant rumbling from the skies were replaced with clang and clamor from a nearby structure. The sounds of a fight. Cassandra started moving at an increased pace, and he followed along as best he could until they were standing by a breached wall before a drop towards an open area. Several figures were battling the charging shades, emerging incessant from a green gash that seemed a rift in the air itself. 

The sensation that was constantly within him, echoing along with the Breach in the sky intensified at the sight of the rift. This was born from it, another fracture from which these creatures spew. His eyes were tingling as his gaze were drawn towards it, ever turning within itself, ever fluctuating, hanging in the air and showering the surroundings in its green hue.

Cassandra had left his side, she was charging once more, carelessly flinging herself from the overlook and down into the midst of it all. She immediately began shouting commands and rallying everyone around her as they continually disposed of everything that spew from the rift. Two figures moved independently, astride from Cassandra’s commands, charging autonomously towards every emerging Shade they could. One was short, abnormally so, and stocky. gripping some contraption that he had never before seen. The other was slender, taller and moved with a primeval grace, bringing down the forces of nature upon the emerging scourge. He could not fathom the power, even grasp the concept of someone bending the world around him in such a manner, yet he had just done it himself, brought forth destruction from nothing more than the intent to do so. He was in awe once more, simply taking in the battle before him.

The slender one caught his eyes and waved him forward. He felt compelled to concede. He started looking for a way down, but saw none other than to simply slide along the broken ground. It was not a graceful landing, yet he pushed himself to his feet, started hurling himself onwards, through the crowds of fighters, until he reached him. He had no time to regain his posture before his wrist was firmly gripped and his outstretched hand pointed towards the fracture. A familiar sensation gripped him. As before, he felt his mark, his entire body even, aggressively consume any nearby lingering energy, even that from the rift itself. What had previously been a billowing beam spouting from his hand, now seemed to reverse to draw that very energy into him. He felt it fill him in a way he could not even comprehend. Suddenly, the accumulated energy exploded in one swift moment and where before the alien rift had cleaved thin air, there was now nothing except a bleeding sky slowly retracting upon itself before it vanished.

“What did you… I…”

He was stammering. Looking to the thin frame of the man who had so firmly gripped his wrist. He had let go at the point of impact and was now studying him carefully.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

His words were soft, carried along the now undisrupted air in a fashion he found unfamiliar but strangely calming. He felt compelled to seek whatever knowledge he had to spare.

“You know... The mark?”

He was frantically searching for words to match his desire for further knowledge, searching for a way to frame the questions. He came up short, but the other one didn’t seem to mind  
as he continued explaining without further prodding.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake - and it seems I was correct”.

Magic. The word lingered in the air between them before settling in his mind. He must’ve mumbled it, as the other one’s expression seemed to warrant a further explanation for him. Before he could as much as begin, Someone emerged from behind him.

“Meaning the mark could also close the Breach itself?”

Cassandra’s voice was growing ever more hoarse from the bouts of shouting, yet she seemed as much in control as she ever was. He turned to look at her, she was glowing at the prospect of putting an end to the destruction wrought upon the land.

“Possibly.”

The other one didn’t quite share her enthusiasm.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Words so distant he was gripping at them through misty planes, yet something drew him from his retreat within himself, a deep melodious voice that seemed as if it nailed him firmly to the ground.

“Good to know, here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

It was the short, stocky man he’d seen across the battlefield before, he was walking towards the group, fidgeting with his fine leather gloves before stopping dead before them. The short man was looking intently at him with a sort of mischievous smile drawn across his face, yet his eyes were screaming bloody seriousness.

“Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” 

At the last word, he looked towards Cassandra with an ever growing air of condescension about him, while he himself was grasping at the situation until it dawned on him that Varric’s advance was an introduction requiring a response.

“I’m…”

He had no way to finish that sentence. For a brief moment the air stood still between them until someone else intervened.

“The prisoner, if we are to believe him, have no memories of himself or the world around him.”

He felt the sting, he had no idea if Cassandra was intentionally denoting him anymore or if she was simply blunt in every manner.

“Interesting...”

The taller, slender one was now advancing from the side.

“I will be perfectly honest, I have no idea what effects unlocking such immense power might have upon us or the world around us. Memory loss seems entirely within the confines of possibility.”

He spoke with an incredible certainty, he himself noted once again, even though the words themselves were shrouded in doubt.

“I am Solas, by the way. I am pleased to see you still live.”

He studied the man intently. Solas, of such grace yet with such an air of ruggedness about him, as if he’d fallen from that very charity.

“He means: I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.”

Varric had once again emerged from behind them to shed a less serene light on the situation.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all…”

He commended Solas for his stillness, the calm in which he was engaging this entire ordeal.

“My travels have allowed me to delve intently into such matters. Cassandra’s organisation refers to me as an Apostate, a mage outside of the confines of the Circle of Mages, yet with the yield and abandon of all Circles, technically all mages are now apostates.”

Mages, plural. Magic was in abundance in these lands it seemed.

“I am here on a whim, assisting in any way I can, if not we are all doomed regardless of origin.”

He nodded slightly while listening intently to every word Solas spurred forward.

“Perhaps you could answer Solas, is he a mage or is the magic simply tethered to him?”

Cassandra sidestepped into the conversation, she had returned to her stern and strict manner. Solas was looking at him, answering her question and enlightening him in the process:

“Your prisoner is no mage, indeed I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

Cassandra simply nodded before returning to her tedious study of the path before them.

“We should get going.”

\------------

They were trodding along a beaten path at Cassandra’s steady pace, despite the slight incline she didn’t seem bothered in the least. Solas and himself were a few steps behind, while Varric was taking up the rear, complaining about everything from the mountains to the snow.

He was looking at Solas, suddenly gripped by the vast difference in posture and features from himself and Cassandra. Solas was entirely bald, making his sharp, pointed ears stand out increasingly more as he was studying him. He gathered himself for a second.

“Excuse me Solas, but you seem different from me and Cassandra, Varric even. Is it because you’re a mage?”

A wide smile spread across Solas’ face, not one born to calm the others around him as he’d seen him do before, but one materialized by his question alone.

“I am an Elf, prisoner. An entirely different people to you and Cassandra. As for Varric…”

Solas had barely uttered Varric’s name before he interjected from behind them:

“As for Varric, Chuckles” He was talking about himself in third person. “Not much of a comparison between me and the “real” dwarves.”

Solas was still smiling, obviously amused by his question and Varric’s outburst.

“Easy, Child of The Stone, Your heritage is not so easily dismissed. As for your question, we are different, not only as a people but racially diverse as well. My people’s legacy has survived in fragments now distorted by elves and humans alike.”

He was pondering Solas’ implications, that they were entirely different racially and ached to know more.

“Wait, you called Varric “Child of The Stone”. What does that mean?”

Solas was looking over his shoulder back at Varric.

“Care to elaborate for our misfortunate prisoner?”

Varric scuffed and waved him away.

“You do the honor Chuckles, I’m sure you’re better acquainted with the formalities.”

Solas picked up the pace to catch Cassandra who was waiting atop the incline for them to reach her. He continued:

“Varric is a dwarf, I call him Child of The Stone because that it was he is. The intricacies are… complicated, maybe best saved for a later date.”

Solas was solemn, he himself was deeply lost in thought piecing together the lay of a land he knew nothing about. When they caught up to Cassandra, she was worried. They were overlooking a plane before a great gate connected to a bridge. At the square before the gate, another of the Rifts had opened, pulsating strangely in the evening light. More of the shapeless creatures were droning around, they seemed almost lost in their mindless wanderings. Solas had noticed as well.

“When these spirits are pulled through the veil,” He started “They do not come here of their own volition. Their purpose is distorted and they cannot find themselves within a land that makes little sense to them. They lose their shapes, they lose their meaning and they attack frivolously without thought.”

Both Cassandra and Varric hardly noted Solas’ words, both contemplating the next steps.

“You need to use the Mark again,” Cassandra explained. “We will hold the demons off while you… Do whatever you did before.”

He looked towards the gaping rift, unsure if he had the ability to even mend it. Solas had turned to him.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

He studied his left hand, the straight gash parting his palm pulsating emerald. He did feel it. An intricate connection between the Rift and his Mark. He was sure he could have closed his eyes, spun around and still have pointed straight at it. Solas continued:

“Everything from the Fade is born from intent, connect with the Rift, decide on an outcome and follow through with your desire. The Rift will listen.”

As strange as Solas’ remarks were, he understood. Before long, his companions had charged forward. Cassandra in her brash manner, tackling the shapeless shades sword and shield in hand while Varric expertly vanquished everything within reach with the highly accurate contraption that seemed a self-reloading bow. Solas was some ways back, calling down the elements in his strangely graceful way. He had yet to fathom how Solas pulled matter into existence from seemingly nothing.

He was side stepping slowly through the amassing chaos, Cassandra shielding him from whatever came near while Varric and Solas drew attention from him. The closer he got, the more his Mark tingled, connecting and seething in harmony with the Rift. He felt the energy converging in his Mark, the sensation spreading through his arm and amassing in his extremities. As he moved his hand, focusing on the connection, the Rift flared and curled within itself, he had control over it.

As he neared and pointed his marred palm towards the Rift, the large tendril of pure otherworldly light connected him and the gaping void, it seemed purely light, but there was tangible mass as well. Magic was still a foreign concept despite everything he had witnessed insofar. The connection was nearing it’s peak, he felt the light ripple through his entire body, channelling through every corner, the feeling was gathering familiarity within him, his body recognized the unusual etchings within his being.

He roared as he clenched his fist and drew violently away as if closing shut the jaws of the void. The Rift lit up briefly and brightly before dissolving into nothing, leaving but a bleeding furrow hovering in the air while slowly fading. Silence fell upon the plane for a brief moment before the gates were blasted open, revealing the occupied bridge beyond.


End file.
